In Perspective
by LouC
Summary: Tony is in Mexico and has not made contact for three days. Final Chapter: 3 shots. Who is hit? what will TZ do now? Ep. Tag:Obsession and Rule 51. Ziva POV. Rating up to T because, well, it is Ziva and she is a ninja and she's mad.
1. Chapter 1

_Prologue_

_The ground is dusty and the street is full of people. Brown boots, sturdy and practical make their way through the crowded market, expertly following their target. He is easy for the trained agent to follow because is dressed slightly better than the other people in the market. His shirt a little crisper, his pants a little more tailored. He does not stand out as he smiles and greets the stall holders he has come to know while conducting his business here. _

"_Pretty beads for a pretty lady?" a stall holder asks. _

"_No thankyou," the agent smiles. Does she really look like she would wear coloured plastic beads? Dressed in a dirty white tank top, jeans and boots, she should find the thought laughable. Except she is here for a very serious reason. The business of having someone's back is no laughing matter._

**A/N This story is complete. I'll post a chapter a day for the next 5 days then I am going overseas! I hope you enjoy my imaginings for the opening episode of season 8 :) **


	2. Chapter 2

The smell of over-ripe fruit and livestock is in my nose and my hair and possibly even soaked into my skin. Some people find market places full of energy and excitement. I think they are only good for one thing. Blending in.

And in this place, I do blend in. I am Rule #27/A. You could not tell me from a local if your life were on the line. Tony would say I make a Mexican look like they were from Canada. Or something like that anyway.

Tony.

It is because of him that I am here. In this market, surrounded by the smell and the dust and the crowds. And even though I blend in, my heart is thumping in my chest, aware of the ever-present possibility that this could all come crashing down around me.

Again.

Last time I was somewhere like this I spent the next four months bound to a chair or locked in a cell bound to my thoughts. I am here to try and stop that happening again. Because even though he is the second strongest man I know, he is not trained for captivity like I am and he will not last much longer. If he has not already…

No. I will not think like that. They have no reason to torture him. He does not have information, he is leverage. He just needs to keep his mouth shut and not cause trouble. He had to get himself caught.

At least, we assume he is caught. He failed to check in three days ago and again yesterday. McGee traced his cell and it had not moved. The battery went flat but when I arrived I went to the location. I found the phone in a trash bin in this market. I still do no know if it was clever on Tony's part to drop it in there or stupid on the part of the men who have captured him. I would not care, it brought me here. Except that it speaks to the minds of the men I must take down.

Alejandro Rivera is the one I must worry about. He fooled a lot of people. Abby, Ms Hart, Vance. At least, I think he fooled Vance. Rivera is two-faced but he made one huge mistake. He messed with Gibbs' family. My mission is not to take him out but I will not hesitate if it is necessary. I might just make it necessary. He messed with my family.

Rivera has stopped at a food stall. Café is too generous a label to use. He smiles disgustingly at the waitress, who seems to know him, and sits at a table. I guess now I wait. I hate waiting. I sit on a crate across the road, hidden between two buildings. I wonder if Tony sat here and watched the sleazy liar when he was his target.

Before he was captured.

I want to be mad at Tony, but I can not.

I am too worried.

**A/N. Just to clear up something…. I am quite sure that Ziva is very coherent in her thinking. She has 10 languages (plus the language of love) in which to think and I assume she uses idioms from each of those. So while this is written in English, I imagine that she thinks a blend of languages. Hence why she makes sense. Most of the time…**

I'd love your thoughts :)


	3. Chapter 3

I want to be mad at Tony, but I can not. I am too worried. I tried to call him many times after my ceremony but McGee said he would call when he could. I told him that last time they waited for that call, I had ended up tied to a chair in North Africa. He laughed at that. I do not know why, I did not find it funny.

I do not find any of this funny. I am too worried. I never used to worry this much before I came to America. Than again, I never used to care this much either. It is like one of those dreams where you can see yourself outside your body. You can see everything that is happening, feel everything that might happen. But it is not actually happening to me.

This time.

I am beginning to understand what it was like for them. A member of the team in another country, sent on a crazy mission, Rule #3 shot to hell. We have no reason to believe Tony is dead, but it is little comfort to me considering his captors do not hesitate to kill and cut off feet just to make a point.

I am beginning to understand how he can have felt betrayed and rejected yet still fall apart and go half way around the world to kill the man who killed me. Who he thought had killed me. How he could tie his existence to mine when I had threatened to end him. At gunpoint.

I think deep down I knew I was being played. That my father was deliberately driving a wedge between me and my American family. I know deeper down that I pretended not to care because caring is too hard.

I did not love Michael, I am sure of this now. I thought at the time perhaps it could be something, but I look back now and know that I would not have spent the rest of my life with him. He was a distraction, a reminder of home. A desperate attempt to block out that gnawing feeling that something was missing from my life. Nothing more.

I do not know what is missing from my life. Only in the last week have I even begun to feel that there is hope of something permanent in my future. That I am no longer a homeless nomad. There are signs, feelings, and some days when I close my eyes and imagine, I see a blurry image of a house and children and other things that I never thought Ziva David would have. There is something else too but I can not, I will not put a name to it.

I have never dared imagine a future before. I have never allowed myself to care about my coworkers the way I care for my team now. Mossad officers were cooperatives, or if worked with often and proven trustworthy they were team mates. Not family. Yet, since coming to America I have allowed myself to feel for others what I never have. Some feelings, are stronger and more confusing than others.

I would not be sitting here, watching a Mexican government official drug lord eat his lunch so I can rescue my partner if I did not have strong feelings. With no promises on the subject, he and I are somehow bound to each other. I must rescue Tony for the same reason he rescued me.

We are like the clownfish in that movie that he made me watch. I resisted at first, it is after all a children's film, but Tony was quite insistent. I gave in and he had to clean the truck for a month. Afterwards, I understood why he made me watch it. It said everything to me that he was unable to. The clownfish. They live in an anemone. It can hurt the fish, the highly trained fish could pull apart the anemone with its bare fins if it wanted. Always the possibility of pain, but the years of built up immunity protect them from their stinging host. And years of fish crap feed and nourish the anemone, make it strong and a better protector for the fish. It is a strange state to live in, but it is all they know. And it works.

I cried. Twice. Tony has been suitably threatened with mumblings of "becoming more Jewish" and "letter opener" if he ever tells a soul. The dad fish left everything. His home, his friends, his career, even laying out his life, to follow his son. Because that is what you do for family. It is what you do for the people you love.

When I close my eyes and look at the blurry picture of the future, I do not see Tony. But I do not see anyone other than him. I am sure it makes no sense to him either. But I think that is what he meant when he said he could not live with out me. We are two symbiotic creatures whose fate is irreversibly wound around the other's. We have tried to distance ourselves but it quite clearly has not worked.

I hate waiting. Right now. I am fighting a very strong urge not to jump up, grab Rivera by the hair and let my knife ask him where the hell he is keeping my partner.

**A/N so where is Tony? Will Ziva's impatience be Rivera's downfall? Find out tomorrow!**

**Also, I deliberately sneak in lots of little references to NCIS things and if you're confused about one or want to know what ep. it is from, just ask me in a review or PM me :) I LOVE talking shop.**


	4. Chapter 4

My left leg is asleep and I start silently reciting the Constitution to myself. Not that there is any reason to anymore. But I am bored and desperately trying not to think about things that I can not control. My gun, my knife, my trained body I can predict and use with skill. Lately, it is my mind that runs away from me

I roll my neck and stretch, making sure to keep my body in the shadows. It would not pay to have Rivera see me as the seed of a plan I have in my mind relies of anonymity. Suitably un-kinked, I return to my crate and resume my previous position.

I resume my thinking.

I do not know how it happened. I do not know when it happened. It is why he dragged his team into the desert to avenge me.

It is why I am here now.

Vance did not even try to stop me. It would have been futile. He knew this. There was no winky nudging with Gibbs. No 'need to know'. On the third day, the second with no contact, I marched myself into his office and demanded to be read in. An hour later I was on a plane.

And here I am, sitting on a crate in an alley watching a drug lord have his lunch.

Waiting. I hate waiting. Waiting makes me feel helpless. Waiting makes me think and these days that is a bad thing. The things I think about need to be avoided as much as possible. Because that has worked so well so far.

Oh the sarcasm. I chuckle softly to myself. He would be proud. Tony usually loves to see that he is rubbing off on me. He would say it is part of being American. Sarcasm and movies. The man has a movie for every situation. He is like a cinematic boy scout. It took years of dedicated tutelage, but he has me doing it now too.

I got him good last month. It annoyed him. He was already annoyed but I did not help by throwing a movie reference in his face and telling him that he was being unrealistic. I felt kind of bad for mouseing him out to Gibbs but it had to be done. He was obsessed and it was not healthy.

I was not jealous.

I wasn't!

She was not his type anyway…

Oh, who am I kidding. She was perfect for him. Intelligent and professional. And, I hate to admit it, beautiful. He could have made a future with her if he wanted to. Assuming she was looking for that kind of thing also. I wonder if he will look back in a year and see her the way I see Michael. An attempt at denying the giant rhinoceros in the room. I wonder if he felt the same way as I did. Probably not, his obsession was a flashing pan compared to what I did. He did not even spend a whole day with her. But if he is anything like me, I know that some part of him will remember her for the rest of his life.

I was not glad that she died but I will admit that I was relieved. It made the playing field even again. I shut him out with Michael, he shut all of us out with Dana. He died, she died. We have each tried, we have each failed. I saw that day that he would try and make a life for himself with someone else because he thought he could not with me. And now no one knows where the hell he is, or in what condition. And I am freaking out. We are going to have to talk when I get his butt out of here. We can not stay in this suspended state forever. Someone has to make a move.

Speaking of moving, Rivera has finished his lunch and he is starting down the street. I step out of my hiding place and take up my position again. I stay three or four stalls behind him and I can turn my back if he looks my way, looking out from under a hat I try on or the reflection a mirror at a stall to mark him.

He stops at a doorway, knocking swiftly. Three times fast then three times slow. I can not help but roll my eyes, it is just so tacky. Is it too much to hope that he will lead me this easily to his hideout? The door opens and a man with a rifle peers up and down the street. Rivera steps inside and the door closes behind him.

I survey the building. There are no windows on the ground floor, two on the second story. They are of no use to me now, it is far too public to gain entry through them in the day time. They could however prove useful when we need to escape.

One side wall is on an alley, which I casually walk down as if the life of my partner is not on the line. The back of the building is much more promising than the front. There is a window, set two meters in the air with a crate conveniently below it. I roll my eyes again. These men did not do a good job preparing their location. It is easy for me to climb the crate and peer inside. It gives me hope that although Rivera is calculating and thorough, his hired help is not.

I count four men. Rivera, the man with the rifle, one who appears unarmed but I know better than to assume, and one with what looks like Tony's weapon. It could be a coincidence but I know better than to assume. The men are huddled on my side of the room, talking in low voices. I can not hear them and it makes me think that there is someone else in the room who they do not want to hear them. Otherwise there is no reason for them to whisper.

The men look up suddenly, turning their faces to the dark corner I can not see. Confirming my theory. One of them strides into the shadows and hisses out something in Spanish. It sounds like "_You think you are so smart. That you can talk your way out of this? You should learn when to keep your mouth shut." _I groan. That sounds like a threat that someone holding Tony would make. I hear a sickening crunch, the sound of someone being struck hard across the face. The captor strides back into my view and rejoins conversation with his friends.

As hard as it is, I tear myself from the window and continue scouting. I quickly inspect the back door. It looks rickety but the lock is new and I suspect that the feeble wood is fortified on the inside. I need to decide right now whether I wait for the cover of darkness and go in covert or if I go #27/B and make myself known. I choose the latter. I can not wait. I do not know their plans or their condition that Tony is in. He could be injured with only hours to live. My stomach flips as I think this. As I walk back down the alley, I think about what I have at my disposal. Two guns, my knife, a few Pesos and my feminine charms. It is not a lot but I have an idea. My plan formed, I walk back down the market street a short way and purchase a basket and some fruit from a nearby store.

I return to the building and steady myself with a deep breath before I knock on the door. A normal knock, not the pathetic code that Rivera used. I hold the basket under my right arm, hiding the gun on my hip and the knife under my shirt. My hand wraps around the grip of my gun, ready to pull it out should things go badly.

The door opens and the same man with the rifle opens that door. I smile my best smile and in Spanish I ask him if he wants to buy an apple. He smiles, his disgusting gap-toothed leer not at all charming, and says he does not. I smile even bigger and tilt my head. I suggest that he let me in and inspect what I have to offer but he only leers more and begins to shut the door. I shrug. It was worth a try.

I stick my foot in the door just before it closes and drop the basket. By the time he has the door open again, my gun is raised and pointed exactly where I know his head will be. His eyes widen and the smile drops from his face.

"_Do not call out. It will be the last thing you do,"_ I warn him. He nods and swallows, he is clearly terrified. Good. I tell him to drop his rifle, raise his hands above his head and step back into the building. He holds my gaze steady and I know he is considering fighting. I do not want to shoot him and give myself away. I must try everything else first. He knows this.

So he tries. A valiant effort I must admit but he is too old and too slow. His rifle butt clocks me hard in the corner of the mouth as he struggles in my grasp. I hold pressure on him in just the right place and his unconscious body sinks to the ground. I snatch his weapon from the dirty floor. After it is unloaded, I pocket the ammunition and lean the rifle against the wall, concealing it as best as I can next to a wooden cupboard.

I pull the disposable plastic restraints from my back pocket. I want to save the handcuffs in case I need to restrain one of the others quickly. I tie Rifle Man's hands to his ankles behind his back. His rotund stomach acts like a seesaw. If the situation were not so desperate I would find his awkward position more amusing. Reaching into my other back pocket I pull out a strip of cloth and gag Rifle Man.

I reach up and touch the corner of my mouth. There is blood on my fingers and I can feel swelling begin already. It is slightly painful and inconvenient but adds credibility to the cover story I plan to use.

**A/N** **So LouC can't count. And she can't stop editing. The story grew more so there are not more chapters than days until I go away. I could be mean and make you wait but I will post this tonight, another in the morning, and the final two tomorrow night.**


	5. Chapter 5

I pick up my fruit basket, slide my primary weapon into my empty right boot leg and make my way down the hallway. I pass the staircase, hoping that there are no more men up there who will come down and blow my cover. I reach the door to the back room and lift my hand to the handle. My hands do not shake, I am too well trained for that, but again, I take a deep breath to steady myself before I enter the room. My plan? I have learnt a thing or two from DiNozzo these last 5 years. Sometimes going in guns blazing is not the best option. This time, I plan to talk. The biggest risk here is that Tony reacts too much and gives me away. If he weren't so heavy I would actually hope he was unconscious.

This is it. I fling the door open and smile. _"Hola,"_ I say flirtily. The three men whip around towards me, their faces shocked. The fourth man in the room has his back to me. He stiffens almost imperceptibly at my voice, his hands twitching behind his back. He is tied to a chair by his wrists but not his feet. He is not cuffed but bearing the same plastic restraints now worn by Rifle Man. Tony makes a circle with his right index finger and thumb, extending the other three fingers, telling me that considering the circumstances, he is ok. At least I know he won't drop dead on me half way through this.

"_Your friend said you might want to buy some delicious fruit from me," _I continue, stepping into the room boldly. I make it to within three paces of Tony before I am stopped.

"_You need to leave, now." _ Rivera growled. The other men are staring openly and he throws them each a disgusted look. _"We are conducting and investigation for the government. You will forget that you were ever here."_

I hitch the basket higher on my hip and move my hand to my knife, ready to pull it out carefully. I take a step forward.

"_Please,"_ I say pleadingly. _"My boss is not in a good mood today and I am afraid of what he will do if I return without selling anything." _ I lift the hem of my shirt a few inches, showing a convenient bruise on my hip. The turbulence on the cargo plane 5 days ago had been worth it after all. Combined with the fresh blood on my lip it makes for a good cover. I force the memory of Tony offering to kiss my bruise better from my mind and concentrate on the situation I am now in. Damn him.

All three men, Rivera included are distracted by my lifted shirt, as I hoped they would be. I resist the urge to shudder and take the chance to make the final step towards Tony. I bend down, seemingly to place my basket on the floor. On the way down, concealed by Tony's body, I pull the knife off my hip and slide the handle into his fingers. His grip tightens and holds it firmly.

I straighten up and make my best pouting face, placing my left hand on Tony's shoulder and my right hand on my hip. I bend my left knee in what I hope is a sultry pose and lean it against Tony's hands. I hope he is alert enough to follow my lead here.

"_Look at what is being offered," _I say suggestively, clearly not talking about apples any longer. "_The fruit that is for sale is the best in the market. How can you fight this?" _I press my thumb into Tony's shoulder as I say 'can you fight' and immediately his fingers begin to move against my knee.

Y-E-S he taps out in Morse Code. I know that despite everything he would be thinking, 'A lost art my arse.'

I press my thumb again to signal my understanding and drop my arm from his shoulder to where his hands are. My upper body perfectly still, eyes smouldering in the direction of the Mexicans. I know they are still distracted, so with a flick of my own hands, I cut the ties on Tony's wrists. He holds his arms and shoulders steady. I return the knife to his fingers. They can not know he is free. We are still outnumbered by men but hopefully not weapons.

I lean towards the men, giving them the best view I can bear to, and pick up an apple from the basket. I lift my left leg as I bend, still blocked by Tony's body , and bump my ankle against his hands. He lifts the bottom of my jeans and slides my backup weapon out if its holster putting the knife its place. I glance up at the three stunned Mexicans and decide it is time to get the action started. I put my bent leg back down, leaning in on myself so I am bent over double, arse up like some twisted version of Pilates. With Tony's body as cover, I slide my primary weapon out of my right boot and roll the apple under Tony's chair and across the floor. At the same time, I grab the knife from the ankle holster.

The three men look away from us to the rolling apple and in a split second the status quo of the room flips. Tony stands as I throw the knife, hitting the man who looked unarmed square in the forehead. Just in case. Tony smiles as Rivera and the last man raise their weapons to us. We raise ours just as quickly as if it is a perfectly timed dance. I step left and Tony steps right, the three men in a huddle opposite us.

"You can not shoot me," Rivera says calmly. "You have no physical evidence against me."

"We don't?" I smirk. "Last time I checked we had a suspicious grey package with cocaine laced fudge inside."

"I never touched the package," Rivera asserts. "You have no way to tie it to me."

"No. You didn't. But you did touch a metal park bench. Left some nice juicy prints," I remind him.

"And you messed with one of the best forensic experts in the country," Tony grins, picking up on the scheme.

"Your sister's autopsy yielded her prints, which Abby matched to another set on the package."

I watch Rivera's response carefully. His eyes narrow and his finger twitches on the trigger. His face falls as he realizes I am not bluffing. He turns his body slightly and aims his weapon at my head.

"You take the ones I love," he snarls at Tony, growing angry and beginning shake just a little. "My father, my sister. Now you will see how it feels." He moves to pull the trigger and three shots fire in the room.

**A/N**

**One chapter to go! It will be posted tonight as I leave in the morning for 10 days over seas! Thanks for all your kind reviews and alerts. Let me know what you thought of sneaky, Tony-talking, covert Ninja. **


	6. Chapter 6

Rivera has dropped to the ground, the bullet hole in the right side of his head mirroring his father's death. His shot had gone shamefully wide and is lodged in the door frame to my right. The final man lays hunched on the floor, gripping the gushing wound on his shoulder. He will bleed out before the ambulance arrives. If we wanted to call one… He has dropped his weapon and Tony steps over Rivera's body to clear both men's guns.

"He was right, you know," Tony says seriously. "What he said about making me see how it feels. Except that I already know, I just refused to admit it."

I am shocked by his frankness. This is unexpected. But not unwelcome. For the first time I can see his face and it is covered in bruises, some fresh some days old. His mouth also has fresh blood in the corner, no doubt from the sickening blow I heard earlier. I lift my hand to touch it, hesitating. Relieved that he is not more injured but aching to see him like this. I gently brush the blood away with the pad of my thumb and wipe it on my jeans. His eyes are locked on my own wound and I can't help but feel he wants to offer more to sooth its pain that I have just done. I shiver with the thought but there is work to be done. We need to check on Rifle Man and call for backup.

"I know too, Tony," I say honestly as I drag him out into the hallway. He casually drapes his arm across my shoulder and we walk through the dust back to the front door. Rifle Man, now awake, glares at us as we pass. "We need to secure the scene, the others will be here ten minutes after I call in," I explain as I make the call.

"They're here?" he asks, glad that Vance had no been stupid enough to send me totally without backup too.

I nod, hang up and lean against the wall, suddenly exhausted by my sleepless night and two days spent trailing the drug lord. Tony stands in front of me and lifts my chin with his finger.

I can practically see his mind whirling. But he does not ask why I have come. He knows.

"Thankyou," he says, his brow furrowed, his voice catching. "For coming, for having my 6."

"Of course," I nod again. "Abby will now say that it is Tony 1 Ziva 1. We are bound."

"Yes we are," he nods, not correcting my deliberate mistake. I think he likes this meaning better.

I do not know what to say now. So many thoughts, so much relief, all jumbled in my brain and fighting to come out. But nothing comes out. Then, unable to resist, knowing how happy it will make him, I smile and say four words I did not expect to say today, if ever.

"You jump, I jump."

Tony's face breaks into that smile that wears down my resolve like nothing else. He pulls me forward and his arms wrap tightly around my body. Softly, ever so gently, his lips brush the corner of my mouth, one simple action which we both know is anything but.

"That's my girl," he whispers in my ear. "That's my contraction using, constitution memorizing, movie quoting, American girl."

Despite everything, he has not forgotten. I know that later we have much to talk about, including his inevitable guilt at missing the biggest day of my life. I decide right then and there that I will let myself have a bigger day, one that he will need to be present for, and that despite the painful history each of us brings to the tble, we will be giving the blurry picture of my future every chance to become clear. I smile into Tony's shoulder and we stand there, in the dim, dusty hallway, waiting for the rest of our family to arrive, not pretending and not avoiding.

I am no longer worried.

And I suspect that later, once we are home, no longer will we avoid saying what we both know needs so be said. With the lives that we lead, with the daily possibility that one of both of us won't make it home that night, there is no more time to waste.

**A/N Thanks for reading everyone! I hope you enjoyed my crazy look into Ziva's mind. Thankyou for all your kind reviews and alerts. I hope I replied to anyone who asked me a question but please let me know if I missed you!**

**LouC**


End file.
